It is a Truth Universally Acknowledged

That a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Or that a single girl, in possession of a good fortune or broke, must be in want of a husband. Marriage is a very serious affair in my country. Now, I’m sure that it is quite the serious affair in yours too (this is me liking to think that people from all over the globe read my blog, but I digress) but in mine, especially when you’re 21 and almost a graduate, it’s pretty much supposed to become an end in life. You see, when I think of marriage I don’t feel all warm, sunny and photogenic. I feel like the fire in my backyard, the existence of which I’ve been wilfully denying, is finally on my backside and oh boy, does it burn.

I am at that point in life where a lot of my seniors from school are married and some are with kids while more than just a couple of my classmates are seriously contemplating the thought. In Kerala, where I come from, 21 is the standard age, as dictated by  21st century societal norms, when your parents are supposed to ‘start looking’. Everybody knows if there is a single girl whose parents are ‘looking’ because important NEWS like that spreads faster than common cold. The way I understand it, your entire life is supposed to be spent building up an image that will be found acceptable at this crucial moment when your parents finally open the gates to you. I’ve heard of prospective in-laws sending ‘private investigators’ to the college the girl in question attended, to find and dig up dirt if any. So if you’re thinking of putting up a Facebook profile picture with a boy in it, think twice. You might just kill your excellent chances at a narrow-minded mother-in law.

Now my parents know, understand and embrace my immaturity and have accepted that I am not quite done being a kid or educating myself but every single time I am at a family gathering, the following happens. Some distant relative will start a count of the number of my cousins who’re married and this discussion has lately been ending at the conclusion that my elder brother is ‘next in line.’ He is then exempted by the laws of unfair advantage to the male and everybody looks at me. This is usually followed by collective laughter and elbow- nudges (where I assume I’m supposed to join in, exhibit a degree of reluctant shy-ness, pretend I’m in a Bollywood blockbuster and break into a song about my dream man). Disappointed by my apparent lack of enthusiasm, an aunt will declare that I be ‘married off’ by 23. I will guffaw (because ‘laugh’ does not quite cut it). To this, a very forward cousin will very gallantly stand up for me and say that 23 is too early for ‘today’s time’ and that I shouldn’t think of it till I’m 25 but no later because apparently you’re senile the day you turn 26. I will protest vehemently and say the word ‘career’ and the older adults will promptly gang up and try to drag me away from the materialistic path I’m on because there are more important things in life like getting married to the near-stranger they approve of. Finally, the oldest adult in the room will declare how he/she wants to take part in my wedding before he breathes his/her last and then everybody nods and disperses because that just settles it, doesn’t it?

Now, that right there is standard conversation at any family event. It gets worse if you happen to be wearing a saree. I’m terrified to the point that if I’m wearing a saree and an adult comes up to me to say ‘Look how grown up and pretty you’ve become!’, I immediately look around for that single son or a concealed phone camera. Nobody gives compliments like that to a single girl at a Malayali wedding without having a match in mind. I am especially wary of people asking me to pose for pictures alone because one, my arms look fat if I can’t hide them behind the other people in the picture and two, because I’m pretty sure there is an online community of Malayali moms who love their sons where the pictures are going to be put up and reviewed. My own mother asked me to stand still for a picture the other day and I ran away screaming.

So you see, marriage is  like a humongous boulder hanging over my head on a loose thread right now. Nobody, in my part of the country atleast, seems to understand why anyone would want to stay unmarried after they’ve graduated. I mean I’m sure there’s that accepted thing where you can hunt for jobs in pairs. Travel the world? Even better if you have a husband to go with you! Money? Well money comes and goes and we’ll get you married into a ‘good’ family so there’s no worry there. Higher education? I’m sure your in-laws won’t have a problem with that. What if I’m not even close to ready? You don’t have to be. It’ll be like having a permanent friend you’re expected to sleep with and make babies with that’s all. What if I simply want some time to myself? *scoffs* That’s a western concept. In our culture, everybody gets married and has children before they figure out what they want in life. Also, your biological clock is ticking and you’ll birth alien babies after 30.

We once told our Spanish teacher (who’s only 22 and touring India alone now, by the way) about the above scenario in response to him laughing at Indians constantly asking him if he’s married or engaged. He opened his eyes wide and suggested we run away. As much as I like to believe that my parents are the coolest people on dear Earth, I can’t begin to imagine the pressure they’re under because they have a single daughter in the house. Good humour can only beat so many aunties at a time. Add to this my general irrational fear of marriage and near-complete ignorance of the inner workings of the opposite sex and I am pretty much living my personal nightmare. Every social event I go, I feel like I’m a moving exhibit presented for everyone’s appreciation and attention. Demons and dark rooms? Bah! Malayali aunties with single sons or nephews? Now that is something to be terrified of. So you see, marriage is quite the serious affair in our country. It is more a societal norm than an individual choice. While there has been quite the relaxation in the ‘Who you can marry’ laws (British guys still don’t qualify sadly enough), there doesn’t seem to be any leniency whatsoever in the ‘When you should marry’ clauses. And so I hope you’ll excuse me now as I wind up this post and figure out my migration to Timbuktu.

The Aarushi-Hemraj Double Murder Case - Guilty?

I am a self-confessed media junkie with an (until recently) unshakable belief in the system despite its obvious shortcomings. I like to believe there is such a thing as unbiased media, that the spirit of responsible journalism is not dead and that mainstream media is, in these times,  the most powerful weapon in the hands of the common man. I also like to believe that the system has been designed with a view to protect our interests as citizens of this country and hence, it cannot be used to work against us if not for us. I am forced to rethink my convictions now.

The Aarushi-Hemraj double murder case has garnered a tremendous amount of media attention in the last five years or so. Now I have not been to the scene of the crime to review the evidence for myself nor have I any means at my disposal of verifying their credibility personally. I have not spoken to anyone associated with the case. What I know, like every other person, is what I read in the print media and watch on TV. This is an article I happened to read - a 10,000 word investigative report on the case as published in the Tehelka magazine. (And no, I'm not willing to listen to anyone question the credibility of this report because of the charges against Mr. Tarun Tejpal because honestly, this has nothing to do with that. If you have ANY other grounds to do the same, I am very much open to it.)

http://www.tehelka.com/framed-the-aarushi-hemraj-murder-case-an-investigation/

What I also saw and heard of, were exclusives on televised NEWS channels that put forth strong allegations regarding Aarushi's 'promiscuity' as a teenager, her 'questionable' relationship with the 45-year old house-help, her fathers extra-marital affairs, wife-swapping (I don't even know what that is) and her mothers failure to break down on national television while talking about her deceased daughter. That proved to be their undoing in the eyes of the general public. They did not cry enough. Forget the mystery behind the pillow-case that was put down to a typo, the suspicious and drastic changes in the CBI's view of what happened, sudden retractions on statements given by the doctors who examined the bodies, the three helps, once the prime suspects, and not given a second thought following the change in the CBI team investigating the case and the fact that the Talwars urged for the investigation to be carried on after a closure report was filed by the CBI admitting it did not have enough evidence to convict the father. But they did not cry enough!

With all the speculation that it created, all the unverified 'facts' it propagated and all the wrong sort of questions it raised, what the media created was a swarm of general public biased in their opinion on the case - a nation incapable of neutral thinking and objective assessment. It is only human that once an idea takes root in us, every thing we see and hear we use to strengthen our motive for acceptance of the same. I fail to understand when it was that the media went from presenting the NEWS as it is to attempting to manipulate and dictate our judgement.

What the Talwars had to deal with were an evidently biased team of CBI investigators, an investigation that was shoddy from the very beginning (The police did not open the terrace door where the body of Hemraj was discovered later on, because they weren't handed the keys to the blood-stained lock. This was later blamed on the Talwars.), a public that asked for justice without complete knowledge of the facts and a media that was speculating on why they did not cry enough. My opinion is also completely based on what I have read from multiple sources and while I am open to argument, I simply do not see the logic in this conviction when there are, apparently, so many glaring loopholes in the evidence. It scares me to know than an individual can be convicted of so serious a crime when there are so many questions that can be raised with respect to the proof of him/her being guilty beyond reasonable doubt. The Court has awarded them a life sentence. The Talwars will undoubtedly appeal. The outcome of this tragic case will go down in the history of our nations judiciary and it will not paint a pretty picture of it in the eyes of the country and of the world. In the meantime, I am left with a highly depleted sense of trust in the system and the fear that what happened to the Talwars could happen to me. 

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We should be ashamed. Each and every one of us should, right now, be bowing our heads in shame. I do appreciate us coming together in large numbers at the India Gate, shouting slogans in front of the CMs residence, holding all those vigils. Don’t get me wrong for I do laud the sense of brotherhood and comradeship that seems to have awakened in us. But I am ashamed. I am ashamed that it took one girl living out her worst nightmare to bring it out. I fail to comprehend what it is that makes this one girl different from all the others over all those years? That she was raped in a moving bus that plied through some very busy areas of the city while the assault was in progress? Or that she had her intestines pulled out by an iron rod that was thrust into her? Or the fact that she lay naked, exposed and bleeding by the road for quite a while before help arrived? Or is it that she is ‘a fighter’ as her doctor terms it because of her sheer will to live? Because I dare you to tell me that none of the other girls before her had the will to live or the spirit to fight.

‘Amanat’ – because that is what the fourth estate seems to have christened her – is fighting for her life in a lone hospital room. ‘Amanat’.  ‘A priced possession’. Seriously? She is a priced possession because she was brutally raped and violated to the point where she was barely alive? I can bet anything that if there wasn’t a legal clause that made it punishable to divulge the identity of a rape victim, her name, her photograph and almost anything you wanted to know about her would be all over the NEWS by now. The ethics of the media can be called to question here if you care to bring up the girl in Assam who was molested and groped by an entire mob of men as a Cameraman stood by and filmed the entire thing. The media portrays ‘Amanat’ as a heroic survivor. Well, let’s get this straight. She is no hero. She is the victim of a brutal assault that stripped her of more than just her dignity – a simple girl who now faces the horrifying prospect of not being able to eat even a single meal or lead a normal life. The last thing she needs is to come out of that hospital alive and find herself a national celebrity - the involuntary champion of a cause that should have been addressed eons ago. And face the fact that the gruesome details of the attack upon her are the objects of Facebook statuses all over the nation. That would definitely be therapeutic. Do not trick yourself into believing that we are doing her a favour by sensationalising her case and her story. In a way, we are effectively victimising her.

While the entire nation is at India Gate, in front of the TV in anxious wait for ‘Amanats’ recovery or busy changing their display pictures to black dots, there is yet another woman who claims to have been gang-raped in Delhi by five men who were no strangers to her. And an innocent THREE-year old who is fighting for her life in a Mumbai hospital after being raped by her own father. And yet another lifeless body of a girl that has been found somewhere with what the Police call ‘obvious signs of rape’. Tell me they suffered – are suffering - any less. I genuinely commend all those people who are pushing for a change now. Do I support you whole-heartedly? No. Because I feel guilty and guilt makes us want to stop and reflect. Guilty that we turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to all those other women before this. Guilty that we kept quiet as they were publicly and unashamedly blamed for what happened to them – the clothes they wore, the company they kept, the choices they made. Guilty that it took one girl to be assaulted in as brutal a way as had never been heard of before for us to get up from our couches and do something about it. Guilty that I kept quiet – keep quiet – every time I was teased or approached or touched inappropriately by some deprived guy in a very public place.

I sincerely do hope we change something. That we manage to effect more convictions in cases of sexual assault, that we agree on more rigorous punishment than the 7 years we now equal a woman’s dignity to, that we see safer streets and parking garages. But as we push for it all I ask is that we do not use that semi-conscious girl in a hospital bed in Delhi as the reason. All I ask is that we draw on our sense of humanity and morals and keep her out of it all, give her ample space and time for recovery while we fight the battle. All I ask is that we do not further elevate her celebrity status to the point where in the future, irrespective of whether we succeed or not, she will be known as that girl who got raped in a bus in Delhi. That we spare her from those looks of scorn and sympathy, the judgement and the sheer social stigma that comes with it all. Because after the furore has died down and the cause is yet another sheet for our leaders to ponder over, she will be alone in her pain and face it, having publicised it considerably, we will not be there to bear it with her. Hence, all I ask is that we do not fight for her. Instead if we are fighting, let’s fight for us.

To Bollywood, With Love

Bollywood, my love, here is a friendly thought. Stop! Step back. Take a break. Go on a vacation somewhere far way. Refresh. Find yourself once again. Then, come right back. We all need to take a breather once in a while. It is about time you took one too.

I grew up with the ‘Rajs’, the ‘Simrans’, the ‘Rahuls’ and the ‘Anjalis’ you put in my way time and again and you know what? I didn’t mind them one bit. I did not have an issue with the unending fields of mustard, the dancing flowers, the flying dupatta or the train that is invariably leaving the platform. Nor did I mind the dirty cop, the evil mother-in-law, the scheming sister-in-law, the angelic son, the bed-ridden mother, the angry father or the all-forgiving, ideal ‘bahu’ who probably made life difficult for the real-life bahus of the time. So you see? I have taken everything you have thrown my away in near-sportsmanlike spirit – never questioning your efforts or your film-making abilities. But right now, at this very moment in time as your very ardent fan and well-wisher, I am pleading with you to stop!

It all started with Munni. The item song was back! And who better than the girl who made a trend out of dancing on train-tops to do the honours? Munni had just about finished her last ‘thumka’ when Sheila came along blowing her right out of the water. The quintessential‘item number’ had just been redefined. The country was still reeling under the effects of these last ‘numbers’ and the acts that came with it when there came Shalu who claimed to better Munni and Sheila. Now that was saying something. It was quite easy to ignore Shalu. But before I knew it, the item song had caught on! And how! It came to a point where even a, say, serious thriller with controversial political undertones had to have an item song in it. It became an unwritten rule. “Here’s an interesting script! How do we sell it? Let us make a complete mockery of the exceptional storyline, add a fight scene in a bar and then have our heroine strip down to her bare essentials and do a scintillating dance number to a catchy song!”

And then came the Rajnikanth phase. The unanimous laughter to all the jokes was still ringing in my ears when your heroes unashamedly started defying Newton too! Bending bullets, single-handedly decimating an army of highly-built, ferocious thugs, creating tornadoes of dust, riding two bikes at a time in one movie and then two horses in the next. Entertainment! In came Prabhudeva and suddenly Bollywood was in ‘South mode’. Sonakshi Sinha moved in with her dark shades and became the epitome of the crazy village belle who looked extremely South Indian but was somehow expected to fit into a North Indian village setting. ‘Aa ante amalapuram’ became ‘Aa re pritam pyare’ with not one, not two – but three actresses dancing to it. 'Ringa Ringa' turned into 'Dhinka Chika'. Lyrics stopped possessing even the ghosts of sense. Salman was the new Vijay. John was the new Suriya. And Sonakshi Sinha was Trisha, Asin and Nayanthara rolled into one. You churned out movies every week – almost like an essential routine. Your songs, your scripts and even your actors started looking, sounding and seeming the same. Your films went from being visual renditions of stories worth narrating to a bunch of scenes aimed at complementing a heroes biceps or a heroines ‘assets’. You made a movie about heroines, titled it ‘Heroine’ and promptly put in an item song. You could not have been more apt.

So here is the thing. I do not want to watch any more ‘snazzy’, 'bold'  item numbers. I don’t even like the phrase anymore. Being a dancer, that is definitely saying something. I do not want any more six-packs or eight-packs or chiselled bodies that are reminiscent of the very Gods of Greece. I am tired of them all. I do not want to hear about another son of a sardar. I do not want any more size-zeroes. So Bollywood, my love, take a break and redefine your priorities. Give me more of the ‘Rajs’ and ‘Simrans’ for all I care. Or even the evil mother-in-law. Give me substance! Give me ‘Shaitan’. Give me ‘Barfi’. Give me a story. Give me an experience. Give me anything but what you are giving me now. So, stop. Think. And for heavens’ sake, come back when you are ready.

And In Today's Headlines..

I am huge fan of the NEWS. No, I am not the ideal teen who knows everything about everything. But yes, I do like to be aware of what the general populace is up to. And thanks to all those dedicated NEWS channels out there, I do come to know of a lot of high-priority, life-changing stuff. Like how ‘Brangelina’ adopted a kid from yet another impoverished country followed by an hour-long feature on how all their other kids are doing. And there is absolutely no telling you how thankful I am, that on the ‘Abhi-Ash’ wedding, there was ‘Exclusive Coverage’ which included some hazy, extremely unclear video grabs of Aishwarya Rai sitting in a car on her way to the venue. I also heard about Rakhi Sawant’s next attempt at a wedding on national TV, that major twist in the absolutely unpredictable storyline of ‘Balika Vadhu’, the next ‘hot item-number’, the newest size zero, the…  Wait, what did you say again? The Indian Women’s Kabbadi team won the World Cup? No, I did not hear much about that. But hey, did you hear about Sunny Leone?

Remember when all the NEWS we had were those thirty minute bulletins that were aired twice or thrice every day and were presented by average-looking NEWS-readers? Things have changed. The presenters look better. The channels look more sophisticated. Also, the tiniest event is dramatized, enacted or animated and presented with a serious- sounding voice-over that makes it seem like your life just changed. The NEWS is transforming our lives into a slow-paced Hindi soap - with the twists and turns and the vamp we all love to hate but still watch.

Yes, I respect the fourth estate. I am, what one might call, a ‘wannabe’ journalist myself. That said, here is another thing I have noticed. Everything everyone says nowadays is said with the invariable motive of giving the press and the people something to talk about while they busy themselves demolishing the system in smoother, subtler ways. I recently caught a glimpse of a feature on a respected NEWS channel as part of the assembly elections in a state. There was a politician ranting at a public event about how this other politician “gets up at 4 am in the morning, works for 5 hours and then starts drinking”. There was also something about a “Patiala Peg” and how “he takes it neat”. In the era which has redefined ‘corruption’, ‘money-laundering’ and all those other words that can undo a nation, how can we allow a drunk politician to exist? But that is, of course, ignoring the fact that in some of our states, the government itself sells subsidised alcohol. But no! A politician who drinks? Unacceptable! Who cares if he’s qualified or not corrupt or the biggest money-launderer in history? It all fades in comparison to the fact that ‘he takes his drinks neat’, because that right there, is undeniably the perfect yardstick to measure his credibility. The way I see it, this is the only thing the above statement implied. If you can think of a saner motive, I would be extremely interested to know.

We were made to read “A Brave New World” by Aldous Huxley in school. In it, the author suggests that in the future, all important information will be lost in a stream of irrelevant data that will be relayed to us continuously. Now go watch the NEWS. Watch that ‘heart-wrenching’ story of the reality show contestant. Watch the ad for that couch that can be successfully dragged around on rocks for whatever reason without causing any damage whatsoever.  I even remember watching this show where they zoomed in on a picture of a celebrity taken at some event, highlighted a portion of her arm in red and suggested that she needed instant ‘hair-removal’. Imagine the amount of irrelevant things that are being fed into your mind. Not all of us are a Sherlock Holmes with an attic for a mind that holds no data that is irrelevant to his immediate existence. Which is why, while we know of the Copernican theory, we also know how many kilos ‘Ash’ gained after Beti-B.

The NEWS today is tailor-made according to what we ‘want’ to talk about, not what we ‘should’ be hearing. But wait, I am a Libran – born diplomat. Hence I have to say, I also admire NEWS channels who, in times of crisis relay information round the clock (except when they do real bright things like broadcast a telephone conversation with a hostage (who might just be a politician) on National TV that reveals where a large group of targets are hiding inside a terrorist-ridden building). It is the other days I refer to – days when you and I are out of ‘interesting’ topics to gossip about. That is when some NEWS channel promptly throws us bits of information on the latest ‘Bikini Babe’ or the newest set of 8-pack abs and lo! In less than a second, the winning Kabaddi team, the corrupt minister and the martyred soldier become history. And all is right in the world again.